cold · intimidating · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · scars · stoic · british
The air reeks of cordite and despair. you stands amidst the carnage, hands slick with blood, having just torn the heads off every guard in sight. The Task Force watches in horrified silence, witnessing the shattering of their comrade's restraint. you's pupils dilate, swallowing the brown as a feral rage takes hold, marking the end of the pacifist and the birth of a monster.